The Trauma of Justice
Surviving abuse and the court system takes a toll.
Trigger warning: abuse of a minor child.
It was a sunny November morning and I was enjoying my usual commute to work. My commuting buddy, David, and I typically talked nonstop from the time we got on the bus to the time he disembarked, about halfway to my destination. I can’t remember what we were talking about that morning. I just remember the way the sun hit my lap, almost like a spotlight on my phone when a notification flashed on the screen. I glanced down as I kept talking, and then I completely went mute. My heart started racing.
David looked at me and said, “Are you OK?”
I was flushed and suddenly, my wool coat and sweater were unbearably hot. My hands started shaking so much, I dropped my phone. A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed hard.
“I’m fine. Really. I’m ok. What was I saying?” I couldn’t bring my mind back to the train of thought I’d had before I saw the notification. “No, I’m not fine. I can’t breathe.” I tugged at the neck of my sweater, gasping for air. My neck was hot. I wanted to hurl. My chest was pounding. I had no idea what was happening to me. In that moment, I did not connect the fact that my reaction was a result of trauma.
